by Lee Child
Speranski did know the alley. He pictured the scene. It was suitable, he decided. The plan was simple, but sometimes simple is best. And if they got the drifter as well as Rutherford, that could be advantageous. Because he couldn’t touch Rutherford. He couldn’t afford to leave any marks. Nothing that might raise suspicion at an autopsy. He had to rely on scaring him. But he could do whatever he wanted to the drifter. Which would no doubt help to loosen Rutherford’s tongue.
And it would be fun.
He would have to summon his housekeeper. Tell her to prepare the generator room. To clean the instruments, at least. The walls and floor could probably wait.
Reacher looked at the man facing him with the bulging jacket and said nothing.
‘Into the alley.’ The guy pointed with his free hand. ‘Move. Backward. Now. I’ll tell you when to turn.’
‘What’s the rush?’ Reacher said. ‘This is a serious decision. I’m going to need more information. Let’s start with you explaining why I’d want to go into the alley.’
‘Because I’m telling you to.’
Reacher shook his head. ‘See, that is not a compelling reason. In fact, it’s the opposite. A moment ago, before you opened your mouth, there was a possibility I’d wind up in there. Based purely on random chance. It wouldn’t have been very likely. If a top mathematician happened to be passing by she could have calculated the probability, tiny though it might have been. Now, on the other hand, even if you invented a whole new branch of mathematics you wouldn’t be able to come up with a number small enough.’
The man fidgeted from foot to foot. ‘OK. Do the math on this. Go into the alley, right now, or I’ll shoot you.’
‘Again, not compelling. If you want me in the alley you must have a reason which doesn’t involve shooting me on the street or you would have done that already. And on top of that, in order to shoot me you’d need to have a gun.’
‘I have a gun.’ The guy flapped his jacket. ‘I’m pointing it right at you.’
‘That’s a gun in your pocket? Oh. OK. I didn’t realize. What kind is it?’
The guy’s mouth opened but no words came out.
‘Pistol or revolver?’
The guy didn’t answer.
‘Thirty-eight or forty-five?’
The guy stayed silent.
‘Take it out. Show it to me. You might learn something.’
The guy didn’t move.
‘You don’t have a gun. It’s OK. You can admit it. But you do realize that the game’s over? Because here’s your real problem. You already know you can’t make me do anything on your own. That’s why you pretended to be armed. Only you’re not armed. So here’s my decision. I’m going to decline your invitation. And give you a choice. Tell me who sent you and why they want me in the alley, and I’ll let you walk away. Otherwise, do you have a phone?’
The guy didn’t answer.
‘If you do have one, and you choose not to tell me what I want to know, you should take it out. Call 911. Right away. Because I’m going to throw you through that window. You don’t want to run the risk of bleeding out on the floor.’
‘No one’s calling 911.’ It was a man’s voice, from somewhere behind Reacher’s back.
‘And if anyone’s getting thrown through a window, it’ll be you.’ A second voice.
Reacher turned and saw two men strutting out of the alley. Both were also around six feet tall. Both were bald with full bushy beards. They were wearing greasy coveralls and were broad with thick ape-like arms curving out in front of them. Reacher pictured them in a truck workshop carrying giant tyres around all day.
‘You see, this is why I don’t like alleys,’ Reacher said. ‘They attract rats. Are there any more in there? If so, they’d better slink out now. Because I don’t know what you have in mind but whatever it is, two tubs of lard aren’t going to get it done.’
‘There are three of us.’ The original guy now had his hand out of his pocket and he’d bunched it into a fist.
Reacher grabbed him by his ear, spun him around and launched him forward so that he bounced off the other guys’ bellies and landed at their feet. ‘You’re not quite the same weight class, but stay where I can see you all the same.’ Reacher waited for the heavier men to help him up. They got him vertical then closed in tight on either side. A subconscious urge to defend the weakest in the group? Or stupidity? Reacher didn’t know. But whatever the reason, it was a poor position to adopt. They should have spread out. Formed a triangle. Multiplied the threat they posed. Put the bigger guys on the outside corners. Have them advance together. Attack simultaneously. Then even if Reacher successfully blocked them both he’d temporarily be occupied. The skinny guy would be free. Front and centre. His chance to be a hero.
‘I assume there was some kind of message you were planning to deliver,’ Reacher said. ‘Want to tell me what it was?’
The broad guys swapped glances, then the one who’d been the first to emerge from the alley took a step forward. ‘We know what you’re doing,’ he said. ‘Stop it. Go home. And take your boss with you.’
‘My boss being?’
‘The man you came here with.’
‘OK. Now we have a real problem. You know why? If you think that guy’s my boss, you must think I’m here to work. If I’m here to work, I’m getting paid. If I stop working and leave, I won’t get paid. I’ll lose out. So it’s like you’re trying to take money out of my pocket. Do you know what happens to people who try to do that?’
The guy glanced at his buddy but didn’t answer.
‘The details vary but the outcome is always the same. A long stay in the hospital. But this is your lucky day. I’m going to give you a chance to forgo the usual penalty. Tell me who sent you and I’ll call it even.’
‘Can’t do that.’
‘Are you trying to annoy me?’ Reacher said. ‘I really dislike the imprecise use of language. You mean you won’t tell me. Obviously you can. In fact, you will. You just need the necessary encouragement.’
Reacher grabbed the skinny guy and pulled him forward. Changed their geometry. Cut their options.
‘Try again,’ Reacher said. ‘Tell me who sent you.’
None of the men replied.
Reacher twisted the skinny guy’s hand so that his inner arm was facing up, then gripped him by the wrist. ‘You know when people say a kid has a broken arm, the bone is often not severed all the way? It’s what’s called a green-stick fracture. The bone’s just bent. Because young people are supple. But as you grow older, your bones become more brittle. They no longer bend. They shatter. Now, this guy’s no kid. He’s not old, either. I wonder how far his bones will go before they snap?’
Reacher started to bend. The guy started to scream. More in anticipation than pain, Reacher thought, given the limited amount of force he was using. He kept an eye on the broad guys’ position. They were running out of time. Their best option now would be for the skinny guy to drop to the ground and the other two rush simultaneously and push Reacher back against the wall, pinning his arms. And if they were lucky, snagging his legs.
They didn’t move.
Reacher bent the arm further. The guy screamed louder and rose up on to his tiptoes. Even if he could no longer drop, the other two should still charge. They’d end up in more of a tangle and their guy might get a little squashed but it was still their best bet.
They didn’t move.
Reacher bent the arm further. The guy screamed louder. He rose up higher on his tiptoes. The guy on Reacher’s right moved forward. Slowly. And alone. Reacher shifted his right hand to grip the skinny guy’s neck and rotated so that his head tracked the bigger guy’s movement. He waited until the two guys’ heads were inches apart. Twisted so that their temples were parallel. Then drove his left fist hard into the side of the skinny guy’s skull, using it like a cue ball to sink the bigger guy. Reacher let go and the pair slumped down in a tangled heap of limbs. He spun back, his elbow raised in case the other guy was fo
llowing in. But he hadn’t moved. He was standing still, mouth open and broad ape arms curving uselessly out in front.
‘It’s just you and me now,’ Reacher said. ‘What should we talk about?’
The guy didn’t answer.
‘How about this? Answer my question about who sent you and you can take your friends to the hospital. Otherwise, you’ll be joining them there. It’s your choice.’
The man stepped back as if retreating but he planted his rear foot way too deliberately. He paused, then sprang forward, arms wide, trying to catch Reacher in a bear hug. It would have been a reasonable move if he’d disguised it more effectively. As it was, Reacher chopped him on both sides of the neck then grabbed the front of his coveralls, pivoted, and launched him into the wall. The man’s eyes glazed over, and all the breath was knocked out of him. Reacher jabbed him in the solar plexus, but gently. He wanted to put the guy down but not knock him out. Not until he revealed a name, anyway. The man folded forward, his legs buckled, and he wound up sitting at Reacher’s feet. But before he could speak again Reacher heard a siren. Moments later the street was pulsing with red and blue light.
‘Stop. Hands where I can see them.’ The voice was distorted by the loudspeaker but Reacher recognized it all the same. ‘And this time you are getting down on the sidewalk.’
SIX
The same time Reacher was getting processed at the courthouse, Speranski was back down in the generator room. Partly to check on progress. And partly because he was excited at the prospect of a busy night. Maybe many busy nights if the drifter proved as resilient as the journalist had been. While he was underground two calls tried to get through to him. From the same two people as before. One on his burner cell. One on the secure phone. Only this time, when he got back to ground level it was the secure phone that rang first.
‘Is it done?’ Speranski said.
‘That’s a negative,’ the voice said. ‘The team had to abort.’
Speranski resisted the urge to smash the phone. ‘Why? What got screwed up this time?’
‘Nothing got screwed up. It was the correct decision. The drifter left the diner ahead of Rutherford. He made like he was going to stick around so the team held position, waiting for either Rutherford to catch up or the drifter to move away. Then a wild card got played. The drifter got in a fight. It came out of nothing, right there on the sidewalk. There was no way anyone could have anticipated it.’
‘OK. So who did he fight?’
‘Three men. Two big, one scrawny. Locals, presumably. No one we’ve seen before.’
‘How badly was he hurt? Is he in the hospital?’
‘No. He wasn’t hurt. He won. Easily. He demolished all three guys. But just as the fight was winding up a police car responded. They arrested him on the spot.’
‘And Rutherford? Did he get hurt?’
‘No. He didn’t get involved. He avoided the whole thing. He stayed in the diner until the last one went down, then he must have sneaked out through a back door into the alley. He was seen crossing the street and running into his building.’
‘Seen? Why was action not taken?’
‘The police were still there. The team had to let him pass. There was no alternative.’
‘So where’s Rutherford now?’
‘Still in his building. I don’t imagine he’ll come out any time soon.’
Speranski took a moment to think. ‘So it was only the drifter and the police who were involved? Not any of our people?’
‘Correct,’ the voice said.
‘No attention drawn? No spectacle? Nothing for the Center to get in a wad about?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Good. Where is the team now?’
‘Watching Rutherford’s building.’
‘Excellent. You know, this may work in our favour. It will be easier to deal with them separately. We know their exact locations, and the drifter will be secure until the morning, at least. OK. Here’s what I propose. Leave two people to watch Rutherford’s building. The remainder of the team should rest. If Rutherford has not appeared by six a.m. they should go to a location I will confirm in due course. They should conceal themselves there and wait. The drifter will be delivered to them. I’ll make the arrangements for that myself. They should subdue him using any means necessary and bring him here. Then the whole team can focus on Rutherford. With the drifter out of the way they shouldn’t have any further problems.’
The next call came through on the burner. It was short. From a man a short distance away. A report. First, facts. Then opinions. Brief and concise. The way Speranski liked it. Only this time Speranski followed up the information he received with a set of instructions. Which meant that when the burner phone rang again a few moments later, Speranski already knew what the caller was going to say: ‘This is Marty. I have something you may be interested in.’
There were four cells in the basement of the courthouse, and no occupants that night aside from Reacher. He didn’t know if that kind of ratio was normal. Maybe the crime rate in the town was low. Maybe the police were bad at catching criminals. Or maybe the current situation gave the cops an incentive to avoid filling in forms and filing reports by hand. But whatever the reason, Reacher was happy with the result. He needed a place to sleep, and here was a solution that didn’t require him to part with any cash. He took off his jacket and rolled it up to make a pillow. Lay down on the metal bench. Closed his eyes and let Howlin’ Wolf loose in his head. Next up was Magic Slim. He gave them a couple of songs each. Then he counted to three and drifted straight off.
Reacher woke himself at 7:00 a.m. so he had been lying awake for an hour weighing his priorities for the day when he heard footsteps approaching. Someone quick and light. Reacher opened his eyes and saw a uniformed cop he didn’t recognize. She was about five foot eight and looked like she could run a marathon before breakfast without thinking twice. She had a thick twist of dark shiny hair knotted at the back of her head and a warm, welcoming smile. Her name plate said Rule. Reacher could only imagine the ribbing that had bought her at the academy.
‘Rise and shine.’ Officer Rule opened the cell door and gestured for Reacher to come out. ‘A detective wants to see you.’
‘Goodyear?’ Reacher didn’t move.
‘Someone new.’ Officer Rule shrugged. ‘I don’t know who he is. He just got here. Must be from another jurisdiction.’
‘Suppose I go see him.’ Reacher stood up. ‘What then?’
‘That’s up to him. And Detective Goodyear.’
‘Any word on the idiots who jumped me?’
‘They— The new detective should have the most up-to-date information.’
‘Any idea why they did it?’
‘You already said it.’ Officer Rule smiled. ‘They’re idiots.’
‘Who are they?’
‘Just a bunch of local yahoos. No one for you to worry about.’ Officer Rule paused and looked more closely at Reacher. ‘Although I’m guessing there aren’t too many people you worry about.’
‘That’s not so.’ Reacher picked up his jacket and came out of the cell. ‘Just the other day I got into a debate over the well-being of a group of up-and-coming musicians.’
‘That’s not what I meant.’ Officer Rule took Reacher’s elbow and guided him towards the corridor. ‘And I think you know it.’
The new detective kept Reacher waiting for half an hour exactly. A minute more than one prime number. A minute short of another. Reacher was disappointed.
The guy was wearing a black suit with a white shirt and a narrow burgundy tie. He was older than Goodyear. That was clear. But how much older was hard to tell. Reacher guessed ten years, minimum, but the guy had the kind of podgy face that resisted wrinkles and didn’t sag. His head was bald, but freshly shaved so there was no indication of where his hairline would naturally be. He was slim. And he looked fit, in an unassuming, middle-of-the-road kind of way.
The guy sat at the table. He took a black notebook from his j
acket pocket, then gestured for Reacher to get up from his spot on the floor and join him. ‘My name’s Wallwork. It’s early and I’m not a morning person so let’s get straight to the point. Why did you attack those men last night?’
‘Where’s Detective Goodyear?’ Reacher said.
‘He’s here somewhere,’ Wallwork said. ‘But I’m handling this case. So. Tell me. The fight at the diner. What started it?’
‘Those cretins did.’ Reacher folded his arms. ‘They came after me. I gave them a chance to walk away. It’s not my fault they were too stupid to take it.’
‘Why did they attack you, then?’
‘You’re the detective. You figure it out.’
‘There’s no reason you can think of?’
‘Aside from stupidity?’
‘OK. So I should put this down as a random, unprovoked attack?’
‘Unprovoked, yes. Random, no. They thought I was working with some insurance guy. They tried to warn me off.’
‘Why would they do that?’
‘You’re the detective.’
‘Fine. Don’t help me. But you should certainly help yourself. Listen. I’ve just been to the hospital. You banged those guys up pretty good. They won’t be able to work for quite a while. Won’t be able to do much of anything. They’re not happy about that. They’re looking for some kind of payback. Talking about pressing charges.’
‘Let them. Nothing would stick.’
Wallwork shrugged. ‘Maybe. Maybe not. But it would lead to a trial. There’d be no way around that. The courts are pretty backed up around here. Could be a while before you appear. We’d have to keep you locked up in the interim. And there’s the jury to think about. They’d all be locals. Do you think they’d like the idea of a hooligan blowing into town and beating on their own? And here’s another thing. The guys have already had their photos taken. By a professional. Multiple shots. They have all kinds of swellings. Bruises. Cuts. They look bad.’